


Commentary

by ivanolix



Category: Battlestar Galactica (2003)
Genre: Canon - TV, Canon Het Relationship, Crack, F/M, Making Out, Season/Series 03, Wordcount: 100-1.000
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-01-31
Updated: 2010-01-31
Packaged: 2017-10-20 21:44:36
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 350
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/217391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ivanolix/pseuds/ivanolix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Making out is not a spectator sport. (Crackfic)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Commentary

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by this Michael Trucco quote: "It's always awkward man. It's a choreography, it's a dance. Depending on who's directing it. Whatever level of interaction you have with the director. If it's Eddie Olmos he's right there going, "There you go, yeah. I'd move her hair; slide your hand down. Nice." You're like, "Dude, you're creeping me out. You need to stand away." Eddie just gets into it. It's an awkward situation to be in."

No one could hate with so much sunshine around, but it wasn’t just the environment that kept making Kara lean into Sam, brushing her hand along his thigh, wrapping her foot around his.

He always leaned back when she did, his large hand at her waist as he pulled her a little closer along the bench. As if he’d forgotten over those seven months stuck on Caprica what she felt like, and needed her near. They’d frakked countless times since they’d found this planet; Kara knew he hadn’t forgotten anything he’d learned about her.

She liked the way she had to breathe in deeply as he nibbled his way up her bare arm, skipping the top of her tanks and getting straight to her neck. She arched into it, the sunlight looking red behind her eyelids as she tipped her head back and smelled the fresh air.

“Hmm,” came a craggy hum a few feet off, obviously neither her nor Sam.

Kara stopped herself from caring, tugging at Sam’s foot with hers, toes curling over as his lips teased behind her ear.

“You seem to know her well, son.”

They both jerked upright, eyes snapping open. Kara, at least, knew that voice.

“Frak,” she hissed under her breath, shocked to see Adama sitting across the table, cigar hanging from his mouth, a thoughtful expression on his face.

“No, keep going, you had the right idea,” the Admiral encouraged, absently waving his hand.

Sam looked scandalized. “Dude, this isn’t a pyramid game, commentary isn’t welcome.”

Kara felt speechless as Adama appeared almost hurt, but shrugged and rose to walk off.

Sam’s shoulders jerked as if to shake off an image. “What the frak,” he muttered under his breath.

“That,” said Ellen Tigh crisply as she walked by their table, with a slightly bitter undertone, “is the real reason I didn’t live with my husband before the attacks.”

Sam’s awkward look just confirmed the first thought that Kara managed to grasp onto, even just in her head. Yep, mood went sailing off onto the breeze, leaving only three words: What. The. Frak.


End file.
